Nice Day for a White Wedding
by Castello
Summary: "Each of these notorious criminals will be wed to an upstanding citizen of Gotham in the hopes of rehabilitation. There will be precautions set in place to prevent harm to the spouse and any criminal escapees. The court reconvenes in exactly one year from today, right here, to discuss their progress. Until then, God bless these brave citizens, and good luck to them. Mazel tov!"
1. Nice Day for a White Wedding

"It is my greatest pleasure, as mayor of Gotham City, to announce our newest criminal reforms program."

There's a bustling murmur overcoming the crowd, but he raises his hands to silence it swiftly, "Each of these notorious criminals will be wed to an upstanding citizen of Gotham in the hopes of rehabilitation. There will be precautions set in place to prevent harm to the spouse and any criminal escapees. The court reconvenes in exactly one year from today, right here, to discuss their progress. Until then, God bless these brave citizens, and good luck to them. Mazel tov!"

Barbara sneered, "Why couldn't _I_ have gotten Gordon? We do have the most history."

"Because no one else wanted Oswald." Lee said casually, nudging her with an elbow in attempts to get Barbara to smile at the flashing cameras.

Of course, she didn't need much prompting. She leered at Oswald and muttered insults before flipping her hair once with a smile. Barbara tossed her shoulder back and grinned like every photographer was there solely for her. She owned the stage and made sure that they knew it.

Oswald, on the other hand, looked absolutely affronted, his cheeks filling with hot air as he held in his rising temper. "Easy Oswald," Jim warned, one hand tightly gripping his arm, "Relax."

He ignored Jim, glaring at the blonde with malice when he snapped, "I'm sure everyone just jumped at the idea of marrying a psycho bitch who's only saving grace is her lackluster looks."

She bared her teeth and Lee and Jim had to hold them both back. "Fish breath."

"Declawed kitten!"

Ed snickered on the other side of Oswald, "I live to love but hate to live, I feed off passion but am always starving. I long for pain but hate its coming, I'm ever seeking but never finding. What am I?"

Bullock groaned, "Of all the nutty- why'd I have to get stuck with Nygma?"

"Jealousy." Ed replied, ignoring Harvey's complaining and offering a pleasant grin, "The answer's jealousy."

"Oh for crying out loud." Harvey barked, "I'm already sick of the damn riddles, imagine a year."

Jeremiah, for his part, stayed stoic as he stood beside Bruce. He never even flinched as the cameras flashed insistently in all of their faces. Bruce wondered how things would pan out for everyone. Not five minutes in they were already at each other's throats. He struggled with whether or not he'd made the right choice in agreeing to take Jeremiah on. They'd been friends once, but the history between them had long since soured. Bruce was, admittedly, very apprehensive. He saw Jeremiah's eyes flick to him for a split second before returning to the crowd gathered below the courthouse steps.

Well there was always hoping.

* * *

"We can't just leave them all in Arkham again." Jim said, swishing the coffee around his paper cup with a grunt.

Another debrief on the criminals of Gotham, another dollar, another day. These four never ceased to wriggle their way out of custody and jump right back into disrupting the peace and wreaking havoc. They'd all escaped a handful of times already. Each. It was rare to have all of them in custody at once though, and knowing what they could accomplish alone, what could they achieve locked away together?

"And what do you propose?" Harvey asked, looking up at his partner with an unimpressed glower.

Jim shrugged, "I don't know. A reform group? Cities have done that for criminals before right?"

"Yeah, with regular criminals Jim. These guys are lunatics."

"They're still people Harvey."

"People who would stab you in your sleep just for shits and giggles."

The commissioner held up a hand, "No, no he's got a point Bullock. They are still people, and Jim's right. We can't just lock them up again and hope that this time it all turns out okay. One day we'll run out of 'next times' and wish we had done something sooner."

Bullock snorted, "Well then what do you propose we do about it?"

"I was reading a story the other night..."

Harvey let his head fall back with an exasperated moan, "Here we go. More romance novels?"

Essen smacked him, "That's not the point. In the story, they handcuffed the two main characters, a mafioso and a cop, and forced them to work out their differences." she smiled, "In the end the mafioso gave up his life of crime to be with her. She helped him see the better side of the world and maybe that's just what these guys need."

"Handcuffs?"

"No," she scoffed, unamused, "they need a guiding figure to stand beside them and show them the better side of the world."

Jim frowned and chanced a glance up at her, "What are you suggesting?"

The commissioner's smile was one of devious delight and Jim immediately regretted asking. Shoulda just shut up and drank his coffee.

* * *

"Today marks Gotham's new beginning." The mayor continued, "These eight will be the first stepping stone to a bright new future. If the program is a success, we'll be looking into helping other inmates with this new method as well."

Jim yanked Oswald away from Barbara's reach with an irritated grunt. He could already tell this was going to be a long and stressful year. He might have bitten off more than he could chew really... but it was all in the name of cleaning up Gotham. Just like he'd promised Bruce he would do. He looked over at him now, almost startled by just how calm Bruce looked standing beside Valeska. He knew it was a long shot-calling Wayne in for a favor like this-and he still wondered if Bruce was too young for something like marriage, but Bruce had insisted on being of help and insistently pointed out that he was of legal age to marry.

The kid had moxy. He'd give him that.

"Just you wait until I slip free Penguin." Barbara sneered, "I'll gut you in your sleep."

"You won't." Lee stated simply, dangling a little remote in the palm of the hand furthest from her future spouse, "One wrong move and I zap you. Trust me when I say I'll use it as soon as you put even a toe out of line."

"I'll just have to kill you first then." she bit, the venom in her voice sharp enough to match a viper's.

Jim let the corner of his lip quirk for just a moment, projecting cockiness as he spoke, "If one of us gets hurt, anyone carrying in Gotham has the right to shoot their spouse on sight. Part of the deal. You go after us, try to kill us and escape, and anyone who sees you will shoot you down before you can try to talk your way out of it."

Edward's eyes widened, " _Anyone_ with a firearm?"

"It'll be broadcasted right after this, and literally everybody in Gotham carries." Harvey smirked, "So I wouldn't try anything if I was you."

Ed lifted his cuffed hands to his chest, splaying one over his heart in mock offence, "Who, me? Wouldn't dream of such a thing, detective."

Bullock huffed, "Uh huh. Might as well start calling me Harvey too," he grumbled, "seeing as we're gonna be husbands in about ten minutes."

"My mother will never forgive me for getting married without her blessing." Oswald mumbled, mostly to himself.

Jim nudged him gently almost like reassurance, "She'll see it on the news. It's being broadcasted on every channel."

Oswald smirked, "She's going to want to meet you, you know. I hope you're prepared for an accosting."

"Then I'll make sure I'm ready for it."

"And now," The mayor said, voice booming with pride as he finished his speech about Gotham's safety and the strives _he_ was taking to make the city a better place, "if everyone will head inside, we will proceed with the marriages."

Barbara snorted, "Can't believe I _finally_ get my big day and it's going to be alongside you freaks."

Jeremiah was the one to speak this time, his face never changing from its default, muted expression, "The quicker we cooperate the quicker it will all be over."

Bullock shrugged, "Psychopath's right. Let's get this show on the road."

Edward kept in close steps with everyone as they all walked up and into the courthouse. He caught Harvey's sleeve hesitantly, "And after the year is up and they do the reevaluation, we're all free to go?"

"If you've proved yourselves to be upstanding citizens." Jim answered for him, "Otherwise it's back to Arkham."

"And the arranged marriages here today will be listed null and void?" Jeremiah asked.

"Yes."

Barbara scoffed, "So it's not even a real marriage?"

The group gathered before the office window in their respective pairs, Jim and oswald first and already scribbling their names onto the paper put in front of them.

Lee smiled sweetly, "It's exactly the same as a regular marriage, but the license expires in a year. You'd just have to come back and sign it again afterwards."

Barbara was curt as she grinned back, tense, "Like I'd want to stay married to you."

Oswald held their signed marriage license in his hands with an odd sort of relief. He didn't feel ready for something like marriage... he'd never even had a real _relationship_ before, but he was thankful that if he had to, he'd been blessed with detective Gordon. He could have been forced off on someone like Bullock instead. Jim would at least be good to him, upstanding man that he was.

Harvey and Ed were next, stepping forward and taking up their pens. Harvey looked like it was a funeral rather than a wedding. He jotted his name onto the line and slipped the paper towards Ed, "I'm just going to bide my time and wait for the year to be up. Then you'll all go right back into Arkham where you belong."

"You don't think this will work?" Ed questioned, neatly printing his own name beside Bullock's messy scribble, "Why agree do it then?"

"I thought I was going to get Barbara." he admitted with a shrug.

The woman in question stepped up next with her new spouse, groaning, "Disgusting."

"We spent some time figuring out who was going with who." Lee said, accepting their license from the woman behind the desk. "These were the best scenarios."

Jeremiah's lip quirked as he elegantly scrawled his signature over his license with Bruce, "I believe it."

Bruce eyed him curiously, "You don't seem very bothered by this whole thing?"

"It's a minor detour en route to my final destination."

"You think I'll let you escape."

"I think," Jeremiah said, voice deep and sure, "that you won't be able to stop me."

Bruce frowned, and vowed to keep a _very_ close eye on his soon-to-be husband.

Returning outside the courthouse, the couples held their certificates, and the mayor proudly grinned, "It is my pleasure, to present, for the first time, the scum of Gotham, married to our handpicked model citizens!"

Oswald and Edward started booing, disappointed, Barbara flat-out had to be held back, "Now see here, you _slimy_ little-!"


	2. Barbara and Lee

Barbara tries to kill Lee the first night in their newly shared apartment.

She's got her hand around Lee's throat, straddling her on the bed and grinning as she feels Lee struggle under her well-manicured fingers. She wonders if Gordon will ever forgive her for this one, but it doesn't matter. Barbara's got a lot of pent up anger towards Lee that's so far gone unanswered for. She eagerly awaits that final _snap_ ; when Lee's throat simply collapses under the intense pressure. But her sweet sweet revenge is ripped away from her when Lee kicks her in the back of the head.

 _Unexpectedly flexible bitch_.

When Barbara recovers from the dizziness of the kick the tables have turned. She's got her back against the wood floor and Lee trapping her arms against her sides with the use of some shockingly powerful thighs. She'd be impressed if she didn't hate her so much. Barbara kicks out in an attempt to wriggle free but has no luck. When the energy to fight back is finally drained she scowls, spits at Lee's face and curses.

" _Calm down_." Lee orders, gripping Barbara's chin tightly so she's forced to look her in the eyes.

"I'll kill you!"

Lee frowns, "I'll use the remote if I have to."

There's a small flash of fear in Barbara's eyes before she forcibly steels it, staring back at her spouse defiantly, "Do it then." she taunts, "Mama always liked a little pain."

Lee doesn't respond immediately. Instead she stands, offering Barbara a hand up and not looking too surprised when she smacks it away. Lee pulls her remote off the nightstand and without a word, aims it at Barbara. There's a small click, and then a violent stinging in the back of her arm where the device had been planted. The pain tracks from her shoulder all the way down to her fingertips and _burns_. Barbara doesn't scream, but only out of sheer willpower. She grits her teeth and hunches over, arm straight out with electricity surging through her muscles.

"And that's only the second level."

There's another click, and the pain subsides, leaving her with a throbbing shadow of sensation throughout her arm.

"See that ring?" Lee sneers, holding Barbara's hand up close to her face with an unreasonably tight grip, "That means we're married. For better or for worse. So suck it up and get with the fucking program. I might not like you, Barbara, but I'd rather you weren't shoved back into Arkham like some kind of animal."

"Hypocrite." She glowers at her spouse and scoffs, "I've got a shock collar. Like a dog. You don't give a damn where they put me."

"I was there after you... went through what you went through Barbara." Lee stated hesitantly, and the appearance of stepping over eggshells came to Barbara's mind, "Your trauma did a number on you. That's not your fault. You don't deserve to be thrown away because of it."

She's surprised, to say the least. Barbara hadn't expected Leslie to say something like that. Especially right after she'd tried to kill her. Barbara can already se where bruises are starting to form on her neck. They'll be a delicious purple tomorrow.

Instead of any sort of remorse, Barbara settles for mockery, sporting a sickly sweet smile as she says, " _Of course_ they stuck me with you." her smile fades and it's replaced with a venomous glare, "Did they think that just because I shared a some _feelings_ with you that I'd just _roll over_ whenever you wanted?"

Lee frowns at her arm. Barbara expects something angry in reply, but instead Lee turns silently and heads out of the bedroom before calling behind her, "Stay right there. I'm going to get you some ice for your arm. It'll help with the afterburn."

Barbara sneers. Always the good doctor.

Lee returns with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in paper towel and a fuzzy looking blanket. She hands Barbara the bag and slings the blanket around her shoulders before she can protest, "You'll start getting chills soon. Electricity can mess with your nerves like that."

Barbara isn't sure what to say. Again, she'd just tried to _kill_ Lee. Now here she was, treating her and offering kindness. It didn't make sense. She should be trying to return the favor; punched back. Barbara had expected it to turn into a fight. She'd been counting on it. The blanket wrapped around her is warm and fuzzy and keeps away the chill, the peas is easing the burning heat in her arm as well. She doesn't say thank you, but when Lee nods at her and rounds the bed to get back under the covers, Barbara decides she won't try to kill her again tonight.

No promises about tomorrow though.

* * *

There's a sizzling sound and the smell of eggs coaxing her out of bed in the morning.

When Barbara slips out of the comforter to investigate, she takes the fuzzy blanket from the night before. It's warm and she likes it. Maybe when she escapes she'll take it with her.

Lee is standing at the stove in the kitchen. She's got her back to the room but she doesn't seem to care, or maybe she just doesn't feel threatened anymore now that she knows the device in Barbara's arm works. She hadn't seen the remote on the bedside table this morning, so Lee must have it on her person. Barbara slinks up to the table and stares at her, "What time is it?"

Lee doesn't startle too bad, but Barbara's lips twitch when she straightens her shoulders. "It's early, I know, but I need to head in to work in about half an hour."

"Ah."

"Do you like omelettes?"

Barbara frowns and tugs the blanket tighter around her shoulders, "What's in it?"

Lee smiles and slips an omelette onto a startlingly yellow plate, "Onion, peppers, cheese, tomato and avocado."

"Vegetarian?"

"Jim told me you don't eat meat."

 _Of course he did_. Barbara scoffs, "Don't suppose he also mentioned that I can't start the day without some caffeine?"

"Pot's on the counter." she replies with a self-satisfied smirk.

Barbara wants to smack it off her face, but she's grateful anyway as she steps around Lee to get at the coffee.

Lee slips the plates onto opposite sides of the table and takes a seat herself, folding the napkin over her lap elegantly before digging in. It's a funny sight, Barbara thinks as she pours herself a cupful into the mug that had been set aside for her. She plops down inelegantly when she's done, consciously leaving her own napkin where it is before cutting off a piece with her fork.

Lee doesn't comment on it, but there's a slight raise in her eyebrow that as Barbara feeling confident that she annoyed her at least a little bit.

Good.

She takes another bite of her food and finds, to her own annoyance, it actually tastes really great. Damn it.

"So..." Barbara comments, breaking the silence to hide her own awkwardness, "This is married life huh? Domestic bliss and all that?"

Lee snorts, "It's just an omelette."

"Speaking of, these are pretty damn good."

She inclines her head in thanks before Barbara realizes she just accidently _complimented_ Lee. She groans and sets her coffee mug down with a little bit of unnecessary force, "The coffee's shit though."

"Do you have a preferred brand?" Lee asks, smiling.

Barbara hesitates, "What?"

"Is there a specific coffee brand that you like?" Lee tries again, taking a quick bite of her breakfast, "I can pick up some today on my way home. I'm nearly out anyway, so I might as well."

The domesticity is startlingly obvious between them and Barbara feels her skin crawl. She wants to do something to break the atmosphere a little. It's too calm and comfortable for her liking. There's a great deal of animosity between them that should be suffocating the room. Not the smell of _vegetarian omelettes_. She scoffs, "Black Ivory."

Lee pauses, "Isn't Black Ivory that ridiculously expensive one?"

"More than five hundred dollars a bag." Barbara grins, crossing her legs under the table as she spears another bite onto her fork and innocently looks up at Lee, "It _is_ my favorite."

If Lee catches on to her act, she doesn't say anything. She heads for work with instructions for Barbara not to leave the apartment. Her number is written beside the landline (Barbara couldn't be trusted with a cell phone yet), there's food in the fridge and the television gets twenty channels. It's just as well. Lee will probably be pissed when she brings home a five hundred dollar bag of shit-tasting coffee, that should be sufficient payback for the hell she'll have to endure sitting around with nothing to do. The thought makes Barbara smile as she drops onto the couch to watch some reality Tv. She wraps herself up in the fuzzy blanket and wonders if Lee will let her go shopping for some warm slippers.

She's napping when Lee gets home at five thirty. Lee clears her throat and Barbara immediately sits up, taking in her surroundings and seeing Lee, standing beside the couch with a plastic bag in her hand. Barbara recognizes the grocery logo and grins, "Got my coffee?"

Lee smiles warmly and pulls a container out from the bag before wiggling it in front of Barbara, "Mount Hagen." she cheerily offers, "Your favorite."

Barbara glares at the canister like it's personally offended her, "You're cheating."

"Asking Jim what you like and dislike isn't cheating."

Barbara scoffs, "I'm flattered he even remembers. At least he cared somewhat."

Lee frowns at her as she sets the coffee tin on the kitchen counter. Trying to offer comfort to someone a little off kilter isn't always an easy thing. Her psychology books had recommended against it for the most part, but she remembers her own time dating Jim Gordon. Lee knows he's a hard man to get over. "You know..." she starts, cautiously, "You're better off trying to move on from Jim."

Barbara's eyes flash as she makes contact with Lee's, "Don't you start with the psychobabble shit. You're only going to piss me off."

"I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need _your_ help." she bites, standing from the couch and dumping the blanket, "Don't talk to me about Jim, _ever_."

"Barbara-"

A well manicured hand stands up in silent demand for Lee's silence. Barbara glares at her spouse with a fiery hatred, "I'm going to bed. Sleep on the couch if you don't want me to murder you in your sleep." she adds over her shoulder as she goes, "I'll stab you before you can fight me off."

Lee doesn't say anything else, just stands quiet and still until the bedroom door closes then retires to the couch. As she picks up the dropped blanket to drag over her legs, she ends up chuckling to herself. "First day as a married couple and I've already been couched."


	3. Harvey and Edward

"She's wired, electric, and screams until you slap her. Who is she?"

"No more riddles, Ed... go to sleep."

"You didn't set your alarm for tomorrow." Ed states simply in reply, "You're always late to the precinct, if you _set an alarm_ -"

"I show up once I've had my full eight hours of beauty sleep, okay? I don't need a damn alarm screamin-" Harvey cuts himself off and pauses, lifting his head out of the pillow long enough to squint at Edward and grumble, "The answer's an alarm clock."

"Well, obviously." Ed scoffs, "It doesn't count if I already gave you the answer."

Bullock grunts and rolls back onto his side, this time facing _away_ from Ed, "If you don't go to sleep I'm gonna make you sleep on the floor after all. And these apartments are shit. You'll wake up with bugs in your hair."

Ed shuts his mouth after that, but the gears grinding in his head are almost just as loud. Harvey can hear him thinking and it's such a chore not to just push him off the bed and call it a day. Why'd he have to take _Nygma?_ No pretty blonde babes, fine, but Valeska would have at least been quiet. Though, Jeremiah intimidated him. A lot. The creepy eyes and the constant silence were really unnerving, especially for an extended period of time. He liked peace and quiet fine enough, but too long like that probably would have driven him crazy.

The sound of twitchy fingers scratching the comforter pull him from his thoughts.

Nygma was going to drive him crazy anyway...

No Barbara, okay, not Valeska, fine. Penguin... Nah. Harvey would have beaten the crap out of Penguin the moment they were alone. There's no denying it, this was indeed the best option. Least amount of damage. Harvey was stuck with it.

He sighed and turned his body to face Ed's. Nygma was lying on his back with his eyes to the ceiling, fingers laced together over his stomach as he stared absently. Harvey snorted, "Ed."

Edward craned his head to look at Harvey with a smile, "Yes, detective?"

"Go. To. Sleep."

Edward's smile drops and he huffs, flipping onto his side and away from Bullock, a mockery of Harvey's earlier body language.

Ah well. Not like it matters. Just one year. Then Bullock gets a raise, and Edward's out of his hair. He can do that.

"Goodnight Bullock." Edward says quietly.

Harvey blinks.

"Uh, G'night."

Edward hums approvingly, and no other noises come out of him the rest of the night.

* * *

Over the years, Harvey's had a lot of one night stands. He's very used to the feeling of waking up in strange places feeling uncomfortable or having a stranger in his bed. He'd sort of expected it to be similar, sleeping in the same bed as Nygma.

But that little guy was always full of surprises, wasn't he?

"The hell..." Harvey says, groggy, as he lifts himself upright to the smell of grilled meat.

Ed isn't in the bed next to him either.

He trudges out of the bedroom, still in his boxers and the wife-beater that's maybe a little too tight around the stomach area.

Nygma is crouched in front of the open refrigerator, frowning into it like Harvey's got something dead lying around in there.

"Do I smell bacon?"

Edward lifts his head to peer over at him, then returns to glaring at the fridge before standing, "Hardly. You don't have any. In fact, you barely have _anything_ in here at all." Edward says, tone irritable, "And most of what you _do_ have has gone bad."

Harvey shrugs, "Yeah, well, I eat out a lot."

Edward starts to pull some condiments out of the door, gestures his head towards the coffee table (Harvey doesn't have a dining room table), but doesn't look up, "I made you a list of things to buy before you come home tonight. It's next to your breakfast."

Harvey perks up, craning his neck to look over at the table curiously, "You made breakfast?"

"A lackluster one. I didn't have much to work with." he says.

Harvey takes a seat on the couch, looking down at his plate and salivating, "Smells good either way."

"Steak and egg breakfast burrito."

Harvey looks over at him, "You used my steak?"

"It was the only meat you had that hadn't expired, and that was a miracle in itself." Edward says with a huff, "You didn't have cheese, but I mixed some chili sauce with mayonnaise to make an aioli that should make it moist enough."

Harvey takes a big bite of his burrito.

 _Jesus, Mary and Joseph this was actually really good!_

He shoves another huge mouthful past his lips before furrowing his eyebrows, "I thought my tortillas were stale." he says, messily, around his bite.

Edward smirks and trots over with a paper bag, setting it down on the other side of Harvey's plate before sitting down himself to eat his own share.

"Paper towels, a little bit of water, and a microwave will do wonders for stale tortillas. Moistens them up again." he takes a cautious bite of his own breakfast while Harvey is processing that before adding, "You knew they were stale but you didn't throw them out?"

Harvey shrugs again, "I was gonna try to make chips."

Edward shakes his head, "You would have burned this place down."

Harvey's polished off his food in record time, grinning widely, "Good thing _you_ can cook then." his smile is surprisingly bright, "Dunno the last time I had something home cooked."

Edward frowns at that, setting his food down and wiping his hands on a napkin instead of his pants... like Harvey had.

"If you don't mind then, I'd like to keep cooking. It's always sort... of calmed me down. It's a hobby of mine, you see." he shares cooly, "And since I'll have nothing else to do with my days, it'll be a good way to pass the time while you're out doing whatever you do."

Harvey snorts, "What I _do_ is detective work, and because I know you know that, you said that just to be and ass. What's in the bag?"

Edward gestures nonchalantly towards it, "Lunch. Again, you didn't have much, but I salvaged what I could, and this will be both cheaper and healthier than you picking up street cart food on your break every day."

Harvey is kind of impressed that Edward remembers this much about his work habits, considering it had been a while since they actually worked together. But, lucky him really. Free cook, tasty meals, and he doesn't even have to worry about remembering Ed's birthday, or their anniversary. Jackpot. Some home cooked meals would be a great improvement to beer and pizza every day, he'll admit. Regardless of how much he tried to convince Jim he loves it.

Harvey plucks the piece of paper up from the table, "This the list? It's long."

"I like to cook things that require complex ingredients."

"Like parmesan cheese?"

Edward looks affronted, "That's a pretty _simple_ food, detective. I can't believe you..." he sighed, "Nevermind. It's for chicken parmesan."

"Oh shit! No kidding? I love chicken parmesan. My mom used to make it all the time. It was one of my favorites."

Edward blinks at him for a moment before half-smiling down at his half-eaten burrito, "Well. We could have that one tomorrow then, I suppose. It requires some time to cook correctly, so I couldn't tonight. Just bring me back my ingredients."

Harvey grins and stands, "Will do. I gotta get dressed." he looks down at Ed's burrito, "You gonna finish that?"

Ed laughs, leaning back into the crappy cushions and gesturing to his plate, "All yours, detective."

He snatches it up quickly and stuffs it into his mouth with a wink before heading back to his room to change. It's looking to be a good day for Harvey, unexpectedly.

There's a startled blush on Edward's face that he doesn't see as he retreats.


	4. Oswald and Jim

Oswald's first night with Jim Gordon is... surprisingly well structured.

Oswald hadn't been expecting such a methodical set up from someone as mercurial as James Gordon. When they'd arrived, Jim wasted no time, electing to immediately show him to the bedroom, help him put his clothes away in an empty drawer and one half the closet, then point out where the towels and toiletries were. He'd been very tight laced; back straight, words curt and pretty to the point, and hadn't said much beyond explaining the absolute necessities.

It was... quite confusing for Oswald.

Jim Gordon had always been a very emotionally driven man, despite what he might like to insist. The boyscout routine was a simple way of balancing out his good deeds from his bad, and in the long run, Jim would always end up doing what his gut told him, rather than his head. It got him into trouble more often than not. An emotional James Gordon had been what Oswald expected.

In fact, Oswald was _counting_ on much more of a grouchy-cop routine than... whatever cheery hotel employee act Jim was trying to pull now.

Because he _was_ cheery, and _that_ was the most confusing part. Jim Gordon was hardly _ever_ cheery.

Of course, maybe it was wiser to approach this as business... set aside feelings and just make this work. Maybe that did make sense. Maybe that was why James was acting so... polite.

"I've got the couch, so no need to worry about stretching out on the bed." Jim says as they mozey back out to the little apartment's open living space.

Oswald blanches, "Oh, I wouldn't dream of putting you out of your own bed."

"It's okay, the couch pulls out."

"That's- That's not the _point_."

Jim shrugs, "Hey, it's fine. I like my couch. Besides, if I sleep out here I won't wake you up while I'm getting ready for work."

Oswald frowns. Ah yes, work. Just what was Oswald supposed to do with his time, locked away like some fairytale princess in a tower while Jim went off to work. Did Jim really believe he'd be content to sit around and twiddle his thumbs? "What am I expected to do while you're gone?" he asks, tersely.

Jim pauses, "Uh, I don't really know." he works at pulling out the couch as he talks, "I guess," he starts, letting out a grunt as he drags the mattress open, "you could clean up the place? Watch some Tv? I don't know. That's what housewives normally do, right?"

Oswald's eyebrows shoot up, "I am _not_ your-"

"No, I know, sorry, that was... a bad analogy. What I mean is, that's what people usually do when they're stuck at home all day, right?"

Oswald crosses his arms, leaning against a wall feature while Jim buzzes around, looking for some sheets, "So I'm not allowed to leave here _at all_ without supervision?"

"Nope. Do you cook?"

"I only know one recipe, my mother tried to teach me when I was very small. I've been informed on more than one occasion that I'm awful at it."

"Well that's out then, I guess." Jim tugs the final corner down, standing up straight again when he's done, seemingly satisfied with his handiwork, "My mom once broke her leg and took up crocheting to pass the time. You could try that? She said it was really relaxing."

Oswald glares at him.

"Right. Guess not."

"I suppose the use of a laptop or phone for entertainment is out of the question?"

"Yup. Well... actually I guess if I just canceled the internet then you could play a game on a laptop. We could also take the service chip out of-"

Oswald pushes away from the wall, glaring down at Jim as he unfolds the blanket from the closet, shaking it out, "So I'm basically a prisoner here. How is this any better than just locking me away?!"

Jim laughs somewhat bitterly, "Well for one, takeout definitely beats prison food." he looks up towards Oswald, pausing his work for a moment just to beat the nail into the coffin, "And even though my place is crap, I'd bet this is a lot nicer than Arkham." he inclines his head, "Right?"

Oswald opens his mouth to retort, but falls short. Yes, this is definitely better than Arkham. Being _homeless_ is better than returning to the dingy rooms of Arkham... but that didn't mean Oswald had to pretend to like these arrangements either.

"I just need something to do." he snaps, trying to sound intimidating but coming across more desperate than dark or devious, "This is meant for my rehabilitation after all, isn't it? If I'm left to do nothing but think, I can guarantee I'll spend all my waking hours dreaming up ideas of escape, and the things I'll do as soon as I'm out."

Jim frowns, taking a seat on the edge of the pull out and giving Oswald a worrisome look, "Fine. We'll figure something out, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow. Spend the first day brainstorming. Figure out what sort of things you like to do when you're not... being a kingpin or whatever. You've gotta have hobbies, right?"

"My hobbies typically include blackmail, torture and extortion." Oswald sneers, entirely too proud of himself when Jim scowls in response.

James starts to kick off his shoes, not even bothering to look up at Oswald as he does, like a spiteful child, "Go to bed. We'll talk after work tomorrow. Just think on it."

Oswald huffs, but obediently retreats nevertheless.

The bed creaks when he sits on it, and the sheets are far from his usual thread count preference, but he'll make it work. Oswald always finds a way. Besides, Jim is right; this is far better than being tossed back into Arkham and left to rot there all over again. Oswald would try to make this work if only for that. He scoffs to himself. Once again Oswald owes James Gordon his livelihood. This... stupid program would have gone on without Oswald if Jim hadn't agreed to take him on. Nobody else had wanted to.

Oswald sighs as he turns onto his side, pulling one of the pillows down to cradle in his arms.

He'll make do. He always does.

Oswald's superpower is rising up from the lowest of situations with his head held high. He's always been good at that. He can make this work just as easily.

With only a little more restlessness, Oswald finally finds sleep in the comfort of knowing that he'll at least be safe here.

* * *

When Oswald finally gets around to rolling out of bed, Jim has long since been gone. He's slept in long enough that Oswald is probably better off fixing himself a slightly early lunch than an exceedingly late breakfast.

Oswald drags himself out to the kitchen, poking around until he settles on a bag of bagels and some cream cheese and jelly from the fridge. He pours himself a glass of milk, grabs a butter knife, and sets himself down on the couch to turn on the TV as he starts to spread the cream cheese over his first bagel half.

 _"-first day of this new 'criminal reform project', what are you thinking Mr. Mayor?"_

Oswald scoffs at the screen and takes a bite of his brunch. The mayor was a self entitled idiot; a buffoon who would always go along with whatever made him look best in front of the cameras... as long as it didn't cost him his neck, that is. Oswald smirks.

He was a weak man.

Oswald plays with thoughts of squashing him for a few moments and it cheers him up a little.

 _"Well, I'm very proud of our men for taking on this job. I think it's a real testimony to our police force that two of our detectives and our coriner have volunteered for this. They're upstanding folks and I know they'll do a bang up job."_

 _"And Bruce Wayne? Why do you suppose he agreed to the Richard King project?"_

Oswald boos openly. Why not? No one was there to hear him anyway. Maybe that would be a perk to being left alone in this ratty little apartment all day. He could technically be as uncivilized as he wanted.

The fact that the mayor had named this whole thing after himself was ridiculous, considering he had so little a part in the operation. It was really just evidence to support Oswald's earlier accusations. A pompous, self entitled, idiot. Oswald is sure he'd had nothing to do with this idea to begin with. In fact, it wouldn't surprise Oswald if this whole thing had been Jim's idea, playing the good boyscout like he always did and worrying about their well beings.

Oswald munches on his bagel thoughtfully.

 _"Bruce Wayne is a good kid. His parents were a great support to this city, and I'm sure he wanted to carry on their legacy in some way. This was a good start."_

That asshole. Just what was he implying?

 _"You called him a kid, but you don't think allowing him to marry at such a young age is wrong?"_

 _"It's legal to marry at the age of 18, Bruce Wayne is 19, and even though he really doesn't look it, Valeska is only a year older. I think it was just fine."_

 _"Just fine, you say, but as a youthful, playboy billionaire-"_

Oswald decides to change channels.

He isn't really interested in Bruce Wayne's media gossip if there's nothing he can gain from knowing it.

He flips through networks with a disappointed grumble, finding mostly sports channels, with a few news outlets and one or two infomercials. James _does_ also have FOX, but they aren't playing anything particularly interesting at the moment. Oswald bitterly settles on an infomercial for "belly-flattening wraps" and tries not to stare begrudgingly at his own belly too much.

Oh, life as James Gordon's spouse was going to be so dreadfully dull, wasn't it?

Oswald thinks, just before the door unlocks, and in walks a disheveled Jim, almost completely ignoring Oswald in favor of trotting to his bathroom, and coming out with a first aid kit.

"Jim?" he asks, slightly alarmed.

 _Speak of the devil and he shall appear._

"Don't have time for questions, my lunch break is short. Can you stitch up a small cut quickly without asking too many questions?"

Oswald huffs, "Can I?" like it's almost an insult, before scooting over to make a seat for James beside him on the couch.

As Oswald patches him up, Jim stares at the food he's pulled out from the kitchen with an expression Oswald can't really decipher. Maybe he's hungry?

"Would you like some?" he asks, still wrapping Jim's _(apparently knifed, goodness Gordon, what were you doing?)_ arm.

Jim blinks, eyes flickering to Oswald for a moment awkwardly, "Uh, no. I'm not hungry."

Oswald silently finishes, careful to keep his mouth shut and not ask the questions he's dying to ask. "Can I ask about it when you return?"

Jim's still quiet, he stands, and _ruffles Oswald's hair like the bastard he is_ before smirking and heading out the door. Oswald only then realizes that he hadn't bothered to style his hair yet... It could very well be the first time Jim's seen him without it. He's still in his pajamas for God's sake!

Oswald buries his face in his hands and groans with embarrassment.

Alright... maybe not _so_ dull after all.


	5. Jeremiah and Bruce

While Bruce understands Alfred's grumbling reluctance about this whole affair, and he might have throat-pinned Jeremiah to the wall himself if given the chance, but crushing his new husband's windpipe with his forearm was not the sort of welcome Bruce had wanted to give him.

"Alfred." he says calmly, inflecting a particular air of nonchalant he'd perfected after his parents died.

He loves Alfred, and truly, Bruce appreciates that he's looking out for him, but he can _handle_ this. Bruce was the one who agreed, he'll be the one to step up and deal with this-with _Jeremiah_.

"Right, mate," Alfred still spits, bitterly, like Jeremiah _is_ the bad taste in his mouth, "you make one false move and I'll zap you to kingdom come."

Jeremiah says nothing in reply, as stoic and silent as always. He keeps his gaze lidded and face calm, as if this is nothing nothing more than a mere inconvenience, if even that. Though, Bruce supposes, for him it probably is. He must be used to people threatening to hurt him all the time, but he always seems to be holding the right cards at the right time. He's never afraid.

" _Alfred_." He says again, much sterner this time, and with just a little more volume.

Alfred finally backs off, straightening is back and tugging down the front of his vest with pointed finality. He inclines his head politely, but his mouth is still pressed into a tight, thin line, "I'll show you to your room then, shall I?"

"Actuall," Bruce says, and both of the men turn to look at him with a slight measure of surprise, "I'll show him around myself. Thank you, Alfred."

Alfred blanches, but doesn't argue, the drop of his head a good bit steeper than he'd lowered it for Jeremiah, "I'll start on dinner then, shall I?"

"Yes, thank you." Bruce says, but is too concerned with watching Jeremiah to look over towards him.

"...Right."

Jeremiah smirks when Alfred is finally gone and out of sight, "I can see why you like him so much. He must be an absolute joy to have around."

"Alfred is like a father to me." Bruce quietly replies, and steps in front of Jeremiah to lead the way up the stairs.

"Two fathers? That's rather lucky, isn't it, while I didn't even have the pleasure of the one."

Bruce blinks, but knows it's a baiting remark and refuses to rise to it. He'll do this, but he'll be cautious about it. There's a lot that could go potentially wrong here... having your arch enemy living under the same roof. If it were Bruce, he'd be making the most of his time and try to learn everything he could about his... husband? captor? There isn't really a great word to describe the strangeness of this situation. At least, Bruce doesn't feel like digging for one just yet.

"I take it your butler was against this idea?" Jeremiah barrells on, undeterred by Bruce's silence.

He walks especially slow behind Bruce, taking his time to look over every small thing they pass, like he's taking in the sites of a historical landmark. Bruce is more than a little unsettled by it.

"Did you manage to win him over in the end? Or did you simply order him to accept it?"

Bruce remains quiet, relieved to finally be at the top step. Those stairs seemed to have taken an age and a half to climb...

"He _is_ your butler, so it doesn't really matter. I suppose that might upset the whole 'father' dynamic you believe you have with him, seeing as you're _his_ boss."

Bruce continues on silently, temper quickly rising.

"Didn't you try to fire him, once?"

Bruce bites the inside of his cheek.

"If we're married, does that mean _I_ can fire him?"

Sucking in a breath through his nose, Bruce calms himself before replying, "No. You don't hold any rights to the estate. You have use of funds, but only when approved by me."

"He speaks."

"You could just ask, you know." Bruce snaps back, trying to fight off an onset of irritation _this_ early. He's saving up for it. It'll get worse further down the line, he's sure. "You don't need to bait me into talking."

Jeremiah hums, and follows Bruce down the hall, "I didn't know I had the pleasure."

"We're married." Bruce says curtly, "You're stuck here for at least a year. I'd prefer not spend all that time running around in circles with you. You want an answer to a question, ask me outright. If I feel like answering, I'll answer. If not, I'll change the subject."

Jeremiah slinks into the doorway Bruce is in the process of opening with a sinister smile, hands held behind his back, and leans into Bruce's personal space, "And if I'd _reeeally_ like to know that answer?"

Bruce clenches his jaw, hand still tightly gripping the door handle, "Then work hard and earn my trust."

Jeremiah lifts a brow, "I can't tell if you're being pompous or optimistic." he crinkles his nose, "Either way, I don't think I like it."

Bruce shrugs, "I don't think you'll be able to do it is all, but that's my condition."

"You're trying to bribe me into being civil by offering to curb my... obsession with you?"

"Sounds gay when you say it like that." Bruce says, and grins when Jeremiah's brows absolutely shoot up off his face, "Kidding." he sniggers.

They're in the room now, have been for a while really, so Bruce quickly adds, "That's exactly what I'm going to do; give you a reward system." before gesturing with his arm, "This is your room. Alfred will bring up your bags, and there's an en suite bathroom over there." he points to the door sitting in the corner of one wall, "There's a bell there that rings to the kitchen, but Alfred will get upset if you use it."

Jeremiah quietly takes in the room.

Bruce had never really visited many of the guest rooms. He was aware of them, but they were always for visiting family or house guests. Bruce had never really explored them much. When Alfred asked which room Bruce wanted Jeremiah to stay in, he'd had no idea what to say. He'd elimited his parent's former room, then his childhood one, decided best to have him in a random room for visitors. Less chance for Jeremiah to stumble across something of value in sentimental warfare. This room in particular only had one window, opposed to two, and it showed a view of the lower garden, leading to the hedge field. No one ever really used it, so that didn't matter. Three cameras had been installed in the room as a part of the entire house's security update, two visible, one covert.

The bed was large, there was plenty of space for clothes, and room had been left fairly bare apart from that.

"There's a few books on the dresser if you want to read something, otherwise I'll see you at dinner."

Jeremiah squinted at him, "You plan to leave me here alone?"

"No. You can explore where the doors are unlocked around the house. If it's locked, don't break in. If I can't find you because you tried to leave, Alfred will zap you. If I can't find _Alfred_ , I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Jeremiah hums, "Well that puts a damper on my escape plans, doesn't it?"

Bruce glares, "Seriously. Just... don't make trouble."

"Because I'll be rewarded with stories from your youth?"

"If that motivates you, sure."

Jeremiah grins, "It motivates me... enough."

Bruce nods, but keeps quiet, opting to chew on those words and figure out if it means danger. He gestures fleetingly with his hand and makes a retreat, wanting nothing more than to find somewhere to hunker down and let loose all the tension that's been building up in his shoulders. "Dinner." he says, and shuts the door behind himself.

Jeremiah only leaves his quiet place when Alfred texts him to let him know dinner is served. Bruce wonders if he texted Jeremiah too, if Jeremiah even has a phone that's not a burner. The kitchen has only Alfred when he slumps in, so he decides it's unlikely. "Where's Jeremiah?"

"I believe back in his quarters." Alfred says noncommittally, plating Bruce's food.

"Does he know food's ready?"

Alfred huffs, "I told him, but whether or not he gave a damn is beyond me."

Bruce looks at his food hungrily. He hadn't known he was so famished until the smell hit him. He holds his fork, but debates waiting for Jeremiah. Manners and all that. "What do you mean?"

"Finally found him poking around in the garage, I did. Told him soup was on, he didn't even look up from the tool rack."

Bruce frowns, "What was he going in the garage?"

"Nothing." Alfred scoffs, almost disappointed, "He had his hands in his pockets the whole time."

"He's following the rules." Bruce states, admittedly a little surprised.

"Or he's biding his time. You sure you want him wandering around the house like that? You never know-"

"It's better than keeping him cooped up in a room. He'd go crazy... er, probably plant a bomb in my toilet just to amuse himself." Bruce grunts, "And that's if captivity didn't make him want to outright kill me." he shakes his head, "This will be better."

Alfred blinks, "When did you get so clever?"

Bruce smiles, then warily eyes his food again.

"Right," Alfred tuts, sliding a tall glass in front of him as well, "best to start eating that before it gets cold."

"Shouldn't I wait-?"

"If you wait for that git to get his act together, you'll starve."

Bruce smirks, and forks the first bite into his mouth happily, Alfred watching with faint amusement.

* * *

Jeremiah doesn't make it to dinner in the end, or breakfast the next morning. When they check the security cameras he's just fine; lying on his bed, feet crossed at the ankle, calmly flipping through the pages of the book in his lap. It's almost a little unsettling, how he seems completely unperturbed by his captivity, the solidarity, not having eaten since... well Bruce wasn't sure.

"You can leave his food outside of his door." he says, when lunch rolls by with Jeremiah's patterned absence finally raising the question of whether or not they should _force_ him to eat.

Alfred hummed, nodding his head and turning to prepare another sandwich.

"Are we still training today?" Bruce asks.

Alfred pauses in the middle of spreading mustard over the bread to look at him, "I hadn't planned on it, what with our suspicious houseguest."

"It's not like he doesn't know that I can fight."

"But does he need to know that _I'm_ the one training you?"

Bruce shrugs, sipping on his glass of milk, "It wouldn't surprise me if he already did."

Alfred's face grows glum, "Yes... well, what've we got to lose then?"

Bruce smiles and scarfs down the rest of his sandwich.

* * *

"Back, get _back_." Alfred instructs, taking large steps forward with fists raised in front him, "If your opponent is charging at you make sure you've given yourself a firm back foot before you try to hold your ground."

Bruce rights his back foot, keeps his hands in front, and blocks Alfred's onslaught of side hooks and gut punches. Some of them he intentionally lets slide by. He lets Alfred hit him sometimes to help build up the tolerance for pain that he wants. He doesn't tell Alfred this, as he'd probably never let Bruce get away with it otherwise.

Alfred jolts a quick side swipe and it knocks Bruce a little off balance, but he remembers what to do, takes a calculated step backward, aware of the wall that might traip him if he took two more back, and fixes his feet.

"Good." Alfred praises, and punches him again.

There's a creak on the stairs to the left, and Bruce turns to look. Alfred knocks him upside the back of the head.

"Distractions, Bruce. You've _got_ to get the hang of not looking."

Bruce frowns bitterly, rubbing the back of his head as both he and Alfred move to look at their unwelcome interruption.

Jeremiah blinks at the two of them, as if piecing things together, and looks Bruce up and down. Bruce waits for the questions, a jibe, even a snide remark, but nothing comes. Jeremiah walks down the remaining step, slips his hands into his pockets, and looks perfectly content to just stand there silently and watch them continue on.

"Right." Alfred says, somewhat awkwardly as he straightens his posture and adjusts his vest. "I'll pop off and start preparing dinner. It's about that time anyway."

Bruce tuts, and looks over at Jeremiah with pointed accusation for a moment before schooling his face. "Hi."

Jeremiah inclines his head, "Hello to you."

Bruce hums. He can't think of anything good to say. What do you say in this kind of situation? It's just awkward.

"Uh, see you at dinner?"

Jeremiah shrugs, and turns to walk off.

Bruce scoffs. What else was he supposed to say?

Jeremiah doesn't join them for dinner.

Alfred reports that he'd eaten half of the sandwich he'd left outside his door, and leaves a portion of lasagna there to replace it for dinner. He tells Bruce that he shouldn't have agreed to this. Apart from "starving the sodding bastard" they weren't doing anything beneficial. Just letting him roam around the house was going to do nothing but let the man in on some of Bruce's personal affairs. It wasn't working. Bruce should send him back to prison.

"He'd only escape again."

Alfred scowls, "Well then, my boy, you're going to need to start doing something. _This_ isn't working."

Bruce sighs, "You're right. I'll figure something out in the morning."

Alfred's frown is still prominent and he's clearly displeased, but he nods, "Right. Glad that's settled then. Good luck figuring it out."

Bruce drops his head into his arms on the table with a groan.


	6. Barbara and Lee 2

Barbara is only absolutely certain about three things in this life.

Money can get you anything you want. Sex can get you any _one_ you want. And power... Power can _change_ anything you want.

They're all a lovely means to an end really, it works that way in Gotham. Don't like the city prosecutor? Plenty of hitmen for hire around these parts. Want that hot yoga instructor? Sleep with his wife, get her to divorce him and take the kids. Viola, single and lonely yoga instructor. Mom and dad don't understand you? Stab them repeatedly. Show them the power-hungry bitch you really are.

Those were the _certains_. Everything else in life was far from it.

Plans change, people change, you can't rely on anything else. So Barbara relies on herself, on these three certain things, and remembers that all other plans are up in the wind.

But right now...

Barbara is very _certain_ that she will _not_ stay home and be a 'pretty little housewife' for the better part of a year.

"Take me shopping." she says one evening while flipping through a magazine, almost to the end of their first week of 'married bliss'.

Lee chortles from where she's laying on the couch across from her, legs up, one arm over her forehead. "I was _just_ telling you how hard of a day I've had. I'm not going out anywhere tonight."

Barbara shuts her magazine, lips tight, "I'm your wife. You're supposed to bend to my every whim."

Another snort, "I'm _your_ wife too, you know."

"But I don't _bend_." she says, and sits up straighter, "Just let me get out of the house. I hate this stupid place."

"This was my mother's house."

Barbara scoffs, "Well your _mother_ clearly had awful taste."

Lee glares over at her, "Is this is supposed to make me want to listen to you? Because all I want to do is punch you in the face."

Barbara brightens, uncrossing her legs and smiling widely as she leans in, "Oh fun. Mama _likes_ to wrestle. Bring it on, let's have a little playtime."

Lee groans and rolls over to bury her face in the throw pillow, "This is harder than I thought."

"Just give up, sweetie. Take me out." she perks up, "Maybe I'll even buy you something pretty to wear."

"How sweet." Lee huffs, and Barbara can't see her face, but the tone alone tells her she's rolling her eyes.

Barbara sneers, "Tomorrow then. It's your day off so I know you're free."

"No."

"Why not?!"

"Because you're a terribly rude houseguest and I don't want to take you out." She sighs, "Besides, I've got things to do tomorrow."

Barbara lets out a noise of frustration, "Like what?"

"Cook! Clean! Make sure I'm well rested enough to go to work pay for all of the snacks that _you_ eat."

"I've got nothing to do here but watch TV and eat snacks!"

"You could clean? Read a book? Anything that's more productive than just making more mess."

Barbara makes a very un-ladylike noise in the back of her throat, rolling her whole head along with her eyes, "Alright, alright, if I promise to be your cheery little housewife and do the cleaning for the rest of the week will you take me out tomorrow?"

Lee pauses in silence, then lifts her arm to squint her eyes at Babs, "It's Thursday."

"I know. I'm more likely to follow through with _one_ day of cleaning." She smiles sweetly.

Lee snorts. "Right."

"I will!"

"Alright, I'll make you a deal." she says, replacing her arm defeatedly, exhausted, "You clean until one o' clock tomorrow _and_ on Saturday while I'm at work, then we'll go shopping tomorrow."

Barbara was ready to give out a happy squeal before Lee raised a pointed finger, "But you've got a three hour time cap. I'm not up for an all day outing."

Babs tutted, "With an early dinner afterword?"

"Twelve thirty to four o' clock, with a late lunch in the middle. You can pick where we go. Deal?"

She huffed, recognizing the short straw when she drew it, but Barbara was desperate to get out of the house, "Deal."

"Great. Now I'm going to bed."

Barbara frowned, "But you didn't finish your story. What happened to the man who came in and stole Bullock's pants?"

Lee smiled as she sat up, "So you _were_ listening."

"This guy came into the station without pants on, jumped on Harvey's back and started singing Oklahoma. How am I supposed to just _ignore_ a story like that?"

Lee laughed, relaxing back against the couch and continuing on from where she left off; Harvey on the ground, pants around his ankles, wrestling with the clearly drunk stranger that had staggered in with a flask and tackled him.

* * *

Barbara hadn't cleaned anything for herself since...

Well...

She'd picked up Jim's dirty laundry a few times back when they lived together. That counted as cleaning, right?

Okay, maybe not... but whatever. She was rich and spoiled. Always had been. Why would she clean for herself when there were perfectly good people who made their living off of doing it for her? Honestly it would have been _cruel_ of her to clean for herself-to go and _deprive_ those lovely people of their hard earned jobs.

Lee had started the day by dragging Barbara out of bed and putting a sponge into her hand. She'd had to give Barbara the crash course in kitchen cleaning twice because she zoned out through half of the first one.

"Dishes first, one pump goes a long way." Lee started, showing an example pump of soap in her palm, "Put them on the drying rack when the soap's been rinsed off, then use the sponge to clean the counters, then the floor. When you're done, toss the sponge. They're disposable." she said, "And don't use soap on the floor, the suds can stain."

Barbara groaned, "That's a lot to remember so early in the morning."

Lee raised an eyebrow at her, "It's past _eleven_..."

"Exaaaactly." she bellowed, dead dropping her head back in a huff.

Lee snorted, "Dishes, counters, then floor. In that order."

"No, really? I thought I'd scrub the floor first, then wash all the things we eat off of."

"Hahh hahh." she jeered before nodding towards the sink, "Have fun, call me if you need me."

"Toodles." Barbara waved, cheerily wiggling her fingers before turning back to the sink with a harrumph. "Easy enough." she said to herself, and picked up a plate with two fingers.

Time passed much quicker than Barbara expected. Washing was sort of meditative and... relaxing, she found, after getting over her initial "Gross! Old food!" moment. The hot water ran over her hands with a calming warmth and movement. She could lose herself in thought as she scrubbed, thinking first about things she'd rather be doing, then what she would be doing if she wasn't _here_... In the house- in the situation- in Gotham... Se fell into thought about how life might have been different if she hadn't killed her parents... Maybe she and Lee would have been friends? Maybe she'd be married to Jim... all roundabout thoughts that led her to a deep, dark place she didn't really plan to ever address. Some critical decisions of her past that made her who she was. Barbara didn't want to address them. The idea of difference scared her.

She blinked.

Before she knew it all the dishes were gone, stacked atop the drying rack with nothing to do but wait to be dirtied at dinnertime.

Barbara felt a little like she'd taken a short trip. She hadn't been lost in thought like that in a long time. She'd never had the moments to spare...

She shook it off with a frown.

Right then. Counters next.

Admittedly, Barbara liked that part. There was something so satisfying about moving things back into their proper places, scrubbing at the coffee stains and making everything look pristine and just... _right_. She took pleasure in tampering with Lee's alphabetical sorting of her sugar and flour jars. She moved them out of order, scooting each around until the length of assorted jars ranged from tallest to smallest, forming a pleasant downward line. The counters were done even quicker than the dishes.

Barbara huffed.

This was easy! Maybe even... a little enjoyable?

Not that she'd tell Lee that.

She decided to sweep before scrubbing. Couldn't find the dustpan though, so all the dirt just went under the rug in the dining room. She thought about skipping the actual washing of the floor, but there were a few stains and spill spots that caught her eye while she'd been sweeping. Maybe it was just the mood she'd been caught up in... or some sort of newly triggered OCD, but she actually _wanted_ to clean them. Barbara wanted the floor to look as nice as her counterwork did.

It was nice to scrub at the floor too. Barbara imagined herself coming home after one of her frustrating days running Gotham City and getting down to scrub out her anger rather than throwing and breaking priceless things. It was... weird. Definitely a jarring thought, completely out of character, but again... sort of... nice.

If she hadn't flown off the handle... would she have done this? Would she have chosen this way to take out her frustrations while living with Jim? Would she have made a good wife? Would she have hated herself for how ordinary she was?

Who knew. But this-

"Barbara?"

Barbara snapped her head up to see Lee, standing in the doorway curiously, a quirked, little smile on the corner of her lips. "A little lost in thought?"

"What?" she snuffed, standing, "No. Just thinking about when I can finally get my hands on a new pair of stilettos."

Lee lifted a brow, smirk growing, "You were 'done' about fifteen minutes ago. It's a quarter til'."

Babs looked over to the microwave clock with a betrayed glare. Yep. She'd been caught totally lost in thought. "Well. I knew that." she said, awkwardly. "I was just wondering if you'd notice."

Lee simply smiled, "Get your shoes and we'll go." she simpered, "Unless you'd rather stay and keep cleaning?"

Barbara huffed, tossing the sponge into the bin before strutting past Lee, head high and shoulders back, "In your _dreams,_ baby."

* * *

"It's not a bad thing, you know." Lee said as they climbed into her car and she turned over the key, "Having a hobby that you enjoy is a _good_ thing. It's what keeps people-"

Barbara narrowed her eyes, crooked smirk slipping onto her face, "Were you about to say 'sane'?"

"...No."

"Liar." She grinned.

Lee huffed, "Where are we headed?"

"Uptown!" Barbara cheered, "Someplace nice and insanely expensive!" She turned towards Lee with an escatic raise of her hands, "Think of a store you've always been too scared to enter because just the mannequins in the _window_ looked like they cost more than your house. _That's_ where I want to go."

Laughing, Lee pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, "Okay then."

Barbara fiddled with the sunroof button of the car, giggling as Lee chided her standing to stick out of the top. She squealed, throwing her arms up as they drove, "Smell that sweet _freedom,_ baby!"

"Barbara! Sit down!"

"Hah!"


	7. Harvey and Edward 2

Harvey has had a long day. His head hurts, his back aches, and things just generally suck. He could use a few beers and a shot of nyquil before a nice looong sleep.

God he sounds lame.

And old.

Harvey shoves the key into his keyhole with an annoyed grunt and kicks the bottom of the apartment door to get it to open. Stupid thing is old and the landlady absolutely refuses to fix it. He's only just pushed through the door when he's greeted with the most heavenly combination of smells. Harvey groans outright, unashamed, and finds his way to the kitchen.

"God, that smells amazing..." he says once he's there, and Ed's lips actually quirk up into a small smile.

"Good evening, detective. I trust you're hungry?"

"Is that for me?"

Edward huffs, "There's enough food here for four people, I'm not going to be able to eat it all alone."

Harvey grins, wide and pleasant. He peers over into the pot with an excited look, frowns when he finds... what looks like _shells_ in a red sauce, then over to Ed for an explanation.

"Coppino, or seafood stew." Edward says, "It's shrimp, clams, scallops and muscles in a tomato and wine sauce. It's usually also made with crab and squid, but good crab is expensive and I didn't know if you'd be willing to eat squid, so I made a few personal amendments." he nods towards a loaf of cut bread on the counter, "Fresh bread over there as well. The broth is perfect for dipping."

"God, you made bread too?"

Edward's smile broadens, he looks proud, "I've had all day with nothing to do but cook and prep meals for the rest of the week. I am sorry though, the bread is a weird shape. You don't have a bread maker or any of the pans I need. I had to make do with a cracked pie dish, so it rose against the rim weirdly."

"That's fine. Still sounds pretty damn tasty. _Way_ better than leftover pizza."

Edward snorts, "I actually had to toss that. It was _molded_."

"Well," Harvey says in a teasing tone, coking his head to the side as he finally gets around to stripping off his coat, "we already decided that I'm really bad at remembering expiration dates."

" _Well_ , you won't have to anymore. I've decided I'll just takeover meals. I think it's a lot safer for _both_ of us that way. I'm pretty sure you'd poison us if I let you handle meals."

Harvey smirks, beaking off a piece of the bead and popping it into his mouth before Edward can smack it out of his hand, "I'm not that bad. Oh... _crap_ , this is _really_ good. It's like that fancy stuff they serve at that dock's place."

Edward, who had crossed his arms when Harvey stole a piece, now smiles softly, "Thank you. I like to salt my bread. It gives it more flavor when you eat it without the broth."

"Can we eat now?"

"Five more minutes, then it'll be done." he grins, teasingly, "Why don't you go and wash your hands?"

Harvey scoffs, lightheartedly and actually amused, "Should've seen that one coming."

"Hands."

"Okay, okay mom."

Edward serves them up two bowls when Harvey is done, and it's the most delicious thing Harvey's eaten in _ages_. He almost considers crying over it. The scallops and muscles are butter soft, melt-in-your-mouth good, and the sauce soaked shrimp are just as delicious. Each piece has its own unique flavor, even though it's all been cooked together, and the bread is the perfect way to sop up some of the broth. It's a true masterpiece. Edward nudges his arm, telling him to eat up and reminding him that there is plenty more. Harvey looks at him. He's kind of got a cute expression on... bashful, but pleased with himself. He looks like he's really happy to be even so simply praised. Harvey eats up his food and decides to pile on the compliments. His face gets even redder. Edward takes the dishes when they're done, promising to do them tomorrow, since he has to much free time.

Harvey is kind of enjoying having Edward around. It's weird, and the last thing he was expecting, but it hasn't been awful.

He feels like he should be reciprocating with... something. Ed's been trying real hard.

"You like Tv?" he says once they've plopped down on the couch, and Harvey pats his happy stomach.

Edward lifts an eyebrow at him, _"Do I like Tv?"_

"Yeah. I mean, you wanna watch something? I'll bet I can find... Jeopardy or wheel of fortune." Harvey feels stupid, "...Or somethin'."

Ed blinks, but sits down next to him on the couch, "I do like Jeopardy."

Harvey smiles.

It's kind of nice really, this weird set up they fall into. There's nothing extremely deep about whatever this little blip of companionship is that's building between them, but it's still nice. Harvey comes home to warm meals and somebody to huff and puff about work to. Edward finds comfort in cooking. He experiments with new dishes (most of them successes), and digs up old recipes. He also finds joy in Harvey's simpering shine when he's got a belly full of delicious food.

Harvey gets a little better at riddles, Ed gets a little more relaxed. It works well.

* * *

The domesticity of the little arrangement they have going on hits Harvey later in the week. It starts after he's come through the door, fresh from work. He's tired. Chasing young and spry criminals is for young and spry cops-which is definitely not Harvey. He drops his coat over the back of the couch with a grumble and himself onto the cushions right after, groaning.

"Hard day?" Ed asks, coming out of the kitchen with something that smells like grilled cheese.

Harvey lifts himself up a bit, knowing Ed's food will cheer him right up.

He takes the plate and curiously examines it, it looks like a grilled cheese and a powdered doughnut had a baby. "What's this?"

"Monte Cristo Sandwich." Ed replies, sitting down beside Harvey with his own plate, "They're delicious."

"Looks like a fried grilled cheese sandwich."

Edward smirks, "Basically, but with ham and powdered sugar on top. It's usually served with a jam or jelly to add some tart to combat the savory, but it's good either way."

Harvey takes a bite, and melts back into the couch with a happy rumble. It's good.

Beside him, Edward smiles and eats a bite of his own after repeating, "Your day?"

"Long. Rough. Stupid kid graffitied my car and broke off the door handle. I had to chase the kid five blocks on foot before we bumped into Michelson and Jones. They got 'em just fine. Felt like an idiot." He takes another bite of his food, choosing to forget the day in favor of salivating over his lovely meal.

"Jones spends all of his free days doing crossfit. He's vainly shared his workout routines with me many times, don't let it get to you."

Harvey hums, wanting to shut his eyes and rest for a while, honestly feeling a lot better, but Ed disrupts his rest by whipping his coat out from behind his head, "Did you tear your coat catching him?" he asks with exasperation, "There's a huge hole in this!"

"Craaap." Harvey groans, "Of course there is."

Edward waves him off, "I can probably do it. I imagine it's no harder than stitching up a chest."

Harvey snorts, "Only you would compare sewing to an autopsy."

"It's the same basic principle." Ed says casually, "You cut a hole, you stitch it up."

"Whatever." he grins, "Happy sewing."

In the end, Edward spends the night awake on the couch, sewing up Harvey's jacket and listening to the radio. In the morning he sends harvey to work by slipping his jacket up over his shoulders for him, handing him a lunch, and waving him off at the door.

It doesn't hit him until he's climbed into Jim's car and Jim asks him about the bag he's holding that it really hits him.

"Ed made you a _lunch?"_ Jim asks, like Harvey's being slow for not thinking twice about that.

He pieces together all the little things until it clicks; asking him about his day, cooking him dinner, sewing up his jacket, sending him off to work with lunches... It's like he's got the lovely little American-dream housewife he never really asked for. Hookers and microwaved meals had always been just fine with him before.

But, if he's being honest, Harvey really likes it. He's really been enjoying the relationship they've got going.

It sits with him the rest of the day as he ponders what he's supposed to do now that he's sort of recognized what's going on. Should he say something? Should he do absolutely nothing?

Jim smacks him out of his daydreaming too many times to go unnoticed, but when he tries to pry it out of him, Harvey stays quiet.


End file.
